I Knew It Was Coming
by ihadtoputitsomewhere
Summary: Yet another fic about Sciles. Stiles has a panic attack at school. Scott to the rescue!


I knew it was coming. That's the thing with panic attacks. You can feel them stirring in your chest. You know it's coming. You just never know when.

I knew it was coming. I felt it in my chest early in the day. Everything was shaking and trembling. My hands, my legs, my breathing, even my voice shook. There was no escaping from it. So I played the waiting game. With every passing class it got progressively more noticeable. It became more and more difficult to focus, to breathe, to hold out until I was alone. I had no appetite. I couldn't eat because I felt sick to my stomach, not with a virus, but with anxiety.

I knew it was coming. I just didn't know when.

I was sitting in class when it started. 9th period I had history. None of my friends were in this class with me. I usually sat alone, did my work in silence, and left swiftly when the bell rang. We were having a discussion about WWII. I, as per usual, stayed silent. My teacher was saying something, I knew it, but I couldn't hear her. I saw her mouth moving, but…nothing came out. All I could hear was the ringing in my ears. Then the ringing stopped, so abruptly it made me cringe. Evidently it was very noticeable.

"Stiles? What do you think? Do you agree with what Gabrielle said?"

I looked at my hands, trying to form words but nothing came out. _Gabrielle? _I thought. _Do we even have a Gabrielle in this class? _I shook my head, my eyes still attached to my shaking hands.

"No, you don't agree with her?"

I shook my head again, but not to answer her question. "I ca—I can't—"

"You…_can't _agree with Gabrielle?" My teacher pressed, obviously confused.

"No, no not that I—I can't br—"

I knew it was coming. I just didn't know when. I guess it was now.

I stood up suddenly, holding my hands out to steady myself. I brought my trembling hands to my face and rubbed my eyes, trying to clear the clouds and black spots that had developed in my vision.

"I have t—" I gestured to the door. My lungs had literally stopped working. I couldn't breathe. I needed to get out of this room before it got worse. "I have to…" I stammered between gasps. "Bathroom." Was all I could get out before I stumbled through the door and out into the empty hallway.

Thankfully, my teacher didn't follow me out, and I managed to drag myself to the restroom. I burst into the empty handicap stall and collapsed onto the ground next to the toilet. I reached in my pocket for my phone, but my hands were shaking so badly I couldn't get it out the first two tries.

I tried to turn it on. Of course it was dead. I couldn't call my dad. I was alone. I was alone, and I couldn't breathe. My muscles began to tense up as the panic attack intensified. My hands balled themselves up into fists and I couldn't open them and my nails dug into my palms but there was nothing I could do because trying to open them hurt so I let them dig until they found blood and then they dug some more. Hot, thick tears streaked down my face, burring my vision and sneaking into my mouth and underneath the collar of my shirt. I was numb and tingly and shaky all over. My head felt like it was about to explode and I wanted to scream but couldn't find the breath so I just sat there and cried and cried and cried until—

The bathroom door swung open so hard it hit the wall. I held my breath and tried to stay as quiet as possible. I heard frantic footsteps as whoever was in here seemed to be looking for something. I heard their heavy breathing and "oh no's" and "oh god's" and a few "pleases." Then the footsteps stopped. Right outside my stall. Whoever it was pounded on the stall door.

"No, please…" I whimpered, on the brink of unconsciousness. "Please… don't—"

"Stiles? Stiles, it's me. Open the door. Stiles please open the door."

_Scott._

I reached up and unlocked the door. Scott burst in and ran over to me. My face twisted in confusion as my voice caught up with my brain.

"How did you—"

"I felt it. I-I don't know how or…or why it happened but I felt it and I knew it was you. I've spent the past 10 minutes checking every single bathroom in the school. I couldn't find you, I'm so sorry I wasn't here earlier."

"Sco—" I tried to speak, but the distraction of Scott finding me passed and the reality of the attack returned. Once again my lungs stopped working and the numbness began to take over and I couldn't—

"Stiles, hey, it's okay. It's okay, just breathe. Come on buddy, stay with me. Try to match my breathing. You can do this. Come on."

He took my hand, which was still stuck in a fist with dried blood around my fingertips. Slowly, one by one, he worked the muscles in my arm. Starting with my bicep, he worked his way down my arm, to my wrist, and finally to my hand. Kneading in circles, he relaxed the muscles and tendons. His eyes remained locked on mine, never breaking to glance down. With anyone else, the prolonged eye contact would have been extremely uncomfortable. But with Scott, eye contact brought a sense of comfort, of safety, of security.

He worked his fingers underneath mine and began to straighten my fingers. Slowly, one by one so it didn't hurt me. When my fist was no longer a fist, Scott pressed my palm against his chest. Warmth poured into me, making the panic retreat by a fraction of a degree.

"Stiles, breathe with me. You got this, you can do this. Breathe with me. Feel my heartbeat. Watch my chest. Match your breathing to mine. There you go. That's it. You can do it. Keep going."

I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to concentrate on the steady rising and falling of Scott's chest as he over-exaggerated his breathing for me. I tried. I tried. I couldn't do it. The panic had spread from my chest to my fingertips, to my toes, to the top of my head. I could feel it spreading, like a thick, black, slime that oozed into every crack, every inch of my being. Choking me. Suffocating me. Killing me.

"Sco—" I wheezed. "H-Help. I can't…I can't breathe. Please, Scott—"

Scott looked at me, searching my face as if he was searching for answers. Then suddenly something clicked. He reached over me and grabbed my backpack. He unzipped each pocket, digging, searching until he came up successful. In his hand, he held his inhaler…the one I kept with me in case Scott had an asthma attack. He hadn't needed it in over two years, so I totally forgot it was in there.

"Here" He said, putting the inhaler in my hand and closing my fingers around the small device. "Use this."

I looked at him, confused and skeptical. He read my expression and explained. "It might help you breathe. Just try it."

I brought the inhaler to my mouth. Scott watched me, nodding in encouragement. I put the plastic in my mouth and squeezed down and inhaled all at once. A cool breeze tickled the back of my throat. I took a deep breath and held it for 5 seconds.

"Good." Scott coached. "Now let it out. Go slow."

I did as I was told, slowly letting out a long exhale. I did the same thing 3 more times, deep breath in, long breath out.

Very slowly, almost painfully slowly, I felt the thick, black slime dissolve from my bones and muscles and veins. The panic retreated. I was okay. I looked down and realized that my hand was twisted, tangled in Scott's t-shirt, pressed against his chest. I pulled it away and flexed my hand a few times, the muscles cramped from holding on so tight for so long.

My eyes then went to the inhaler. I shook it, only to find that it was empty. Totally and completely empty. I looked to Scott, who was smiling at me.

"You…you knew?" I stammered, my voice dry and cracked.

"Yup."

"But how did you… And how did I—"

"You just needed to think there was something in it. That was all you, buddy."

I laughed, softly and cautiously. Words could not describe the gratitude and admiration I held for Scott right now. I literally couldn't form the words to express my emotion, so I just slouched over and leaned into Scott. He ran his hand up and down my spine, giving me goosebumps and making me shiver involuntarily. My head rested against his shoulder and I felt him rest his cheek on the top of my head.

When I was ready, I pulled away and took a deep breath. It felt amazing, to be able to breathe without everything hurting.

"I'm exhausted." I said softly, barely audible.

"I know. Come on. I'll take you home. Sound okay?"

I nodded and stood up, holding onto Scott for support. He slung my backpack over his shoulder and we started walking towards the parking lot.

The only thing I have to say about that is:

Thank god for people like Scott McCall.


End file.
